Poems begining by L

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Lydia Puckett

© Edgar Lee Masters

Knowlt Hoheimer ran away to the war
The day before Curl Trenary
Swore out a warrant through Justice Arnett
For stealing hogs.

Lilian Stewart

© Edgar Lee Masters

I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins,
Born in a cottage near the grist-mill,
Reared in the mansion there on the hill,
With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate.

Lowry Bay

© Hubert Church

I am not here alone. A hidden throng

Is round me in the vesper of the sky.

Lady, When I Behold the Roses Sprouting

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
And then behold your lips, where sweet love harbours,
My eyes present me with a double doubting.
For, viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses.

Last night you left me and slept

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Last night you left me and slept

your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn

Little song for the maimed

© Benjamin Péret

Lend me your arm

To replace my leg

Louise Smith

© Edgar Lee Masters

Herbert broke our engagement of eight years
When Annabelle returned to the village
From the Seminary, ah me!
If I had let my love for him alone

Lydia Humphrey

© Edgar Lee Masters

Back and forth, back and forth, to and from the church,
With my Bible under my arm
Till I was gray and old;
Unwedded, alone in the world,

Little Miss Laugh-A-Lot

© Edgar Albert Guest

LITTLE Miss Laugh-a-Lot,

Saucy the way you've got,

Lucinda Matlock

© Edgar Lee Masters

I went to the dances at Chandlerville,
And played snap-out at Winchester.
One time we changed partners,
Driving home in the midnight of middle June,

Le Guignon (Ill-Starred)

© Charles Baudelaire

Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu'on ait du coeur à l'ouvrage,
L'Art est long et le Temps est court.

Lonesome

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

MOTHER's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two,

An', oh, the house is lonesome ez a nest whose birds has flew

Lyric To The Isles

© Charles Sangster

Here the spirit of Beauty keepeth

Jubilee for evermore;

Leave Me, My Blamer XIII

Advise me not, my blamer, for
Calamities have opened my heart and
Tears have cleanses my eyes, and
Errors have taught me the language
Of the hearts.

Laws XIII

Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?"

La Pipe (The Pipe)

Je suis la pipe d'un auteur;
On voit, à contempler ma mine
D'Abyssinienne ou de Cafrine,
Que mon maître est un grand fumeur.

Letter In Prose And Verse To Mrs. Bunbury

I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could
require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise
my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer.

Last Hill In A Vista

© Louise Bogan

Come, let us tell the weeds in ditches
How we are poor, who once had riches,
And lie out in the sparse and sodden
Pastures that the cows have trodden,
The while an autumn night seals down
The comforts of the wooden town.